


Terminal

by inflouence



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Cancer, Fluff and Angst, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Lung Cancer, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Mentions of Cancer, One Shot, Surgery, Tumblr, lymphoma, okay so im really bad at tagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 17:34:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1573952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inflouence/pseuds/inflouence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m Harry,” he said, and waved to the people before him. “I’m sixteen and have Lymphoma. I basically live in this hospital now…” He licked his lips. “I don’t want to die.”</p><p> </p><p>Or, Harry is battling cancer and Louis is a volunteer who catches his attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Terminal

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is my first time writing a fic for AO3. Just so you know, I don't own One Direction (although I wish I did), and please note that this is a work of fiction and has not happened in real life. Thank you :)

_Nothing is a matter of life and death except life and death. -Angela Carter_

 

 

When Harry was fifteen he was diagnosed with stage two Lymphoma.

He’d been complaining of headaches and abdominal pain off and on again over the months. Sometimes he’d be coughing up a storm or even sit at the bottom of the stairs because he claimed he didn’t have the strength to walk up. His mother let him stay home from school a few times; Harry had a tendency of trying to get out of going.

It was when Anne noticed the swelling in his neck and parts of his face that she finally decided it was no joke.

She’d rushed him to the hospital and had the doctor check him over.  The doctor had seemed confused at first before calling in another doctor to check on Harry. Both Harry and his mum got worried with each passing minute; whatever was going on clearly wasn’t good.

After the doctor had convinced Anne to let him give Harry a CT scan, he returned with a grim look on his face.

Anne cried when she heard the news.

Harry didn’t quite get it at first. He didn’t understand, really. Sure, he’d  _heard_ about cancer and all but he never thought he’d be one to actually  _get_ it. And as he sat in that plastic chair that fateful May morning, it finally occurred to him that he could  _die_. Harry could die from this Lymphoma thing, and it was in that moment his life changed forever.

.

.

.

“Students, I’m happy to announce that we will be soon starting a school-wide fundraiser,” Harry’s English teacher, Mrs. Copeland, spoke to the class. She had a slight smile on her face as she sat on top of her desk, her legs crossed and her hands resting on her knees.

“We will be raising money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma society,” she continued, “To raise money for research that could potentially save lives.”

Harry immediately turned pale and slid down in his seat. He didn’t want to be seen. He couldn’t believe, that of  _all_ fundraisers, the school had chosen  _that_ one. To say he was embarrassed would be an understatement.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Copeland?” A girl sitting in the front of the room raised her hand. “Why did you decide to run  _this_ fundraiser?”

“Good question, Cathy!” Mrs. Copeland’s eyes roamed around the room before settling on Harry’s. “We happen to have a student who is suffering from the disease, and we thought that raising money in his name would be a  _fabulous_ idea.”

Harry wanted to disappear.

Who had given her the  _audacity_ to put Harry on the spotlight about his condition? He’d kept it on the down-low for a while, not telling  _anyone_ except the school nurse about it. The fact that she’d decided to tell the whole classroom and run a fundraiser for him was completely astonishing to Harry. He didn’t want their empathy; he wanted to be left alone.

A brunette beside him raised her hand. “I think that it’d be a great idea for us to learn about the disease. Maybe if we do we’ll feel obligated to get more donations because we know what it actually feels like.”

And she agrees. Mrs. Copeland, now Harry’s least favorite teacher, actually fucking  _agrees_. The brunette turns to him and shoots him an innocent smile, a taunting gleam in her eye. Harry has to blink away tears.

.

.

.

When Harry was sixteen, he was no longer allowed to go to school.

Instead, he moved into his own room at the hospital.

He didn’t mind, really. It was better than attending school, which he’d grown to hate with a passion. Everyone there had eventually discovered about the secret he’d tried so desperately to hide, so every now and then they’d give him pitying looks or whisper about him as he walked by. Harry would be standing by his locker and someone would find the courage to go up and ask him how he was doing, or if he was having pain anywhere, or why he wasn’t dying in a hospital bed. Others would just completely avoid him, as if Lymphoma was contagious.

Harry was glad to be away from them all.

His sister, Gemma, would sometimes visit the hospital when she wasn’t in university. His mother would come over every day and keep him company.

And even though he was almost never alone, always surrounded by either his mother or doctors and nurses, Harry still felt it. He still felt that emptiness in his heart and that deep, gutted feeling, like a never-ending pit in his stomach, because there was still a chance he wouldn’t make it.

.

.

.

“Harry, I have good news!”

Harry audibly snorted. Good news? He hadn’t heard good news in a while.

His nurse, Felicia, rolled her eyes at him as she opened his curtains. “I think it’s time for you to get out. You’ve been cooped up in here for months.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders and put down his History textbook. Although he didn’t necessarily have to  _attend_ school, he was still determined to finish his studies. Once, or if, the cancer left, he could go right to university and not have to worry with anything.

“I have cancer,” he responded, a deadbeat tone in his voice. “Where else am I supposed to go?”

Felicia paused and gave Harry a sad smile. “I know, honey,” she said, “But there’s a new program in the hospital.”

Harry turned a page in the book. “What is it?”

“There are some volunteers in the building,” she said. “They’re about your age; you should go downstairs and check it out.”

He immediately shook his head. “No way,” he declined.

“But it’ll be fun!” Felicia continued to pressure him. “There’ll be music, and games, and you get to meet a lot of new people.”

“I don’t want to do it.”

“Please, Harry. It’s for your own good.”

Harry’s eyes dropped to the textbook, his eyes skimming over a paragraph about medieval Britain. He didn’t really want to stay in his room, and Felicia was right – he’d been there for  _months_ , stuck in that damned hospital bed. He deserved a break.

“Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll go.”

.

.

.

So Harry went.

He was grateful that he wasn’t as weak and tired as some of the other cancer patients in the hospital were. Some of them were already in their fourth stages and had to be taken around in wheelchairs just to be with the volunteers. This saddened Harry, because in some of them you could visibly see them dying, and he felt so bad and he kept thinking that maybe that’d be him someday.

He sat off to the side, away from the other kids, and just inspected them.

Once little boy caught his eye. He had fairly dark skin and he was skinny; there were bags under his chocolate brown eyes. He was bald and he just looked tired. A nametag on his chest read ‘ _My name is David and I have Neuroblastoma_ ’.

There was another boy who was sitting in a corner on the opposite side of the room. He had jet black hair that fell over his eyes and he had this pout on his face that made him look younger than he probably was. His nametag, written in dark, bold letters, said ‘ _My name is Zayn and I have Lung Cancer’_.

Harry then looked away, because everything around him was getting depressing.

“Hello guys!” A boy with brown hair and light skin clapped his hands at the front of the room, getting everyone’s attention. He flashed a bright smile, “I’m Liam, and I’ll be one of your volunteers for today. I want to first thank everyone for coming. We’re all going to be having fun and forget about everything else, okay?”

Some of the kids cheered. Harry only frowned, along with the Zayn boy.

“Great!” Another giddy-looking boy beside Liam cheered with the kids. He had blonde hair and was bouncing on his feet, rocking back and forth, and he just looked excited and happy to be there. “We’re gonna start off by getting to know each other! How about….” His eyes drifted across the large room. They settled on Zayn and his face lit up. “You! Err,” he read his nametag, “Zayn! Can you start?”

Zayn pursed his lips and rolled his eyes before standing up. “I’m Zayn.” He paused for a long time, as if he was finished. “I…I have, uh, Lung Cancer. My uncle is a smoker and I live with him.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I guess the smoke took its toll on me.” He looked around the room. “I’m not afraid of death. Maybe I meant to die; maybe this is the way I’m supposed to die. Who knows.” He seemed to be staring right though everyone’s souls as he spoke. He let out a deep breath before sitting down again.

The volunteers all made eye contact with each other before they urged the next person to speak. Harry rested his chin on his hand and tapped his fingers on the table in front of him, waiting for his turn to come.

When it finally did, he stood up and bit his lip before speaking. “I’m Harry,” he said, and waved to the people before him. “I’m sixteen and have Lymphoma. I basically live in this hospital now…” He licked his lips. “I don’t want to die.” He quickly sat back in his seat.

.

.

.

The rest of the introductions went smoothly, some of the patients speaking about their lives before cancer and what they wanted to do in the future. Some of them were more depressing than Harry or Zayn’s introductions. They’d speak about how much they hated their lives, or how numb they felt to the pain, and Harry just wanted to put his head down on the table and not look up until Felicia came to get him.

“Good job, everyone!” Liam didn’t look the least bit fazed to everything he’d just been told.   
“Now we’re going to assign everyone their very own volunteer. For as long as you and I are here, you’ll be hanging out with your volunteer and getting to know them. We all need a friend, right?”

Harry felt like Liam was targeting the smaller children. Out of all the patients, Harry, Zayn, and probably two other teens were the only ones that weren’t little. It suddenly dawned on Harry that they had had longer lives to live then the other children, and most of them wouldn’t even live to see Harry’s age. Harry closed his eyes for a moment and tried to erase the thoughts.

He didn’t hear the rest of Liam’s words as the volunteers began scattering and settling down with a patient. He saw Liam head towards Zayn and the blonde boy head towards David. Harry was too busy analyzing the other kids to notice the boy that was sitting across the table from him.

When Harry finally did, he found himself nearly jumping out of his seat in surprise. The boy’s bright blue eyes lit up and he laughed, shooting a strange feeling through Harry’s body.

Harry soon found himself staring at the person in his presence. His eyes inspected the boy’s caramel hair that was lying over his forehead in a slightly messy fringe. They trailed over his bright eyes, cute little button nose, and thin firm lips. Harry cocked his head to the side before shaking a bit to try to wake himself up.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry about that,” Harry said. “I didn’t mean to stare, and-”

“No, its fine,” the blue-eyed boy chuckled. He held out his hand. “I’m Louis.”

Harry grasped Louis’ hand and gladly shook it. “Hey Louis, I’m Harry.”

Louis gestured to the nametag placed on Harry’s chest. “So I’ve heard.” He flicked his fringe away from his eyes, and something inside Harry began screaming  _cutecutecute_ but Harry found the strength to ignore it.

“So, I’m your volunteer.” Louis leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you have any questions for me? Don’t be shy.”

“I’m not  _shy_ ,” Harry defended himself, “I just like to keep to myself.”

Louis hummed. “Okay then. How about we just talk?”

“Okay.” Harry paused for a brief moment. “What made you want to become a volunteer?”

The boy seemed to be thinking, his eyes dropping to his lap before meeting Harry’s steady gaze. “I’m not sure,” he shrugged. “At first I thought it was because I needed the community service hours to graduate, but then I realized that I actually like helping people. There’s something about just doing nice things that gives you this great feeling, you know?”

Harry found himself entranced by Louis’ voice. “Uh, y-yeah. I think it’s great. What you’re doing, I mean.”

Louis laughed again. “Thanks, Harry.” He still had a smile on his face as he continued, “Did you actually want to come down today?”

“No,” Harry responded truthfully. “My nurse had to convince me to come. But I don’t regret it.”

.

.

.

The volunteers ended up returning every week.

So each Sunday, Harry found himself faithfully joining the other patients in the atrium of the hospital. And each Sunday Harry and Louis would find themselves getting closer than ever.

Anne was proud that Harry was making friends. Even though his condition had some limitations – Harry couldn’t leave the hospital, for one thing – he still found a way around them, and Anne couldn’t be happier that Harry was finally the happiest he’d ever been in nearly two years.

.

.

.

“I believe we have an opportunity for Harry.”

Harry couldn’t believe what was happening to him. The word ‘opportunity’ was not something he’d ever expected to hear since he’d been diagnosed at fifteen. He sat up straighter in his seat, his ears perked up as the doctor continued.

“There is a new procedure that we’re introducing to the hospital,” he said. He slipped a sheet of paper out of his folder before handing it to Anne. “With this surgery we can remove the affected lymph nodes before the cancer spreads to other parts of the body.”

Anne took the paper with a shaky hand. Her breath caught as she scanned over it, reading and re-reading it several times. Harry caught a glimpse of a diagram and paragraphs explaining the process.

“D-does this mean…” Anne gulped. “Does this mean my b-baby has a chance?”

The doctor nodded his head and smiled at the two. “Yes. I believe Harry will live.”

.

.

.

“I’m going into surgery tomorrow.”

Louis looked up from the puzzle the two were putting together, a deep frown settling on his face. “What?”

“I said,” Harry put in the next piece and picked up another one. “I’m going into surgery tomorrow. I have to eat a really small dinner tonight and make sure I pee before I go bed.” He paused and gazed at the unfinished puzzle. “I might be cured.”

Louis smiled, but Harry could tell it was forced. He had grown to know Louis that well. “Well, that’s great Harry, but are you sure you really want to go through it?”

Harry wrinkled his nose, staring at Louis. “What do you mean?”

Louis shrugged and avoided Harry’s heavy gaze. “These things…sometimes they don’t work. And then you end up getting worse than you were before or…” Louis licked his lips. “You die.”

“Doc said there’s an eighty nine percent chance the cancer will be gone.” Harry attempted to ignore what Louis had said.

Louis shook his head, “But what about that other eleven percent? What if it doesn’t work?”

Harry stopped himself from putting in the last puzzle piece and glared at Louis. He didn’t understand what was so negative about the whole thing. Harry could be  _cured_ , the cancer could literally  _vanish_ from his body, and his best friend was trying to get him to not go through with it?

Deep down Harry knew Louis was right. There was a slim chance that everything could go horribly wrong.

But he didn’t want to think about that. Instead, he put the last piece in and stood up to go get another puzzle.

.

.

.

When Harry was seventeen, he remembered what it felt like to be cancer free.

After two years of suffering from Lymphoma, he’d finally done it. The surgery had worked and he was now back at home, with his family, and he finally felt like his life was looking up.

Not to mention that even though Harry was no longer in the hospital, he and Louis still considered themselves best friends. They’d constantly speak on the phone or Skype, and after Louis’ volunteer work he’d come see Harry.

Harry returned to school and it was an understatement to say that his classmates were surprised to see him. He quickly became popular in the crowds, everyone asking about how he’d finally beaten the cancer. Students would bombard him with congratulations and Harry would happily thank him. He couldn’t believe how far he’d gotten. One second, they were parting when he walked through because they didn’t want to touch him, and the next they were parting because they were so amazed.

It completely dumbfounded Harry.

.

.

.

Harry walked into the coffee shop, the small bell giving off a light ringing as he did so. He inhaled the sweet smell and grinned as he walked through.

He walked towards the table in the back where he usually sat, along with his friends. Louis, Niall, and Liam came into view and he quickly waved at them when they spotted him.

“Hey, guys,” Harry greeted as he slid into the seat beside Louis. Even though it was cold outside and Harry’s cheeks were tinted red from said cold, he felt warmth radiating from his right where Louis was sitting and he immediately cuddled into his side.

“Hey, babe,” Louis teased, poking Harry’s right dimple. “You’re cold, are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, don’t worry about it Lou.” Ever since the Lymphoma had left Harry’s body, Louis had still been constantly worrying about Harry every second. If Harry fell and scraped his knee, Louis was afraid he would bleed to death. Any little thing could set Louis into hysterics if it was hurting Harry. But Harry didn’t really mind. He was actually flattered and smug that Louis cared about him.  _Louis cared about him_.

“Hi Harry!” Niall grinned at the curly haired boy. “How’s it?”

“S’great, Niall, everything’s great.” Harry smiled widely. “How about you, Liam. How’s everyone at the hospital? Doing good?”

“We’re doing great, actually,” Liam replied. “We’ve gotten tons of new volunteers. Maybe you could come over sometime?”

Harry gave Liam a sad smile and politely shook his head, declining the offer. He wanted nothing to do with the hospital except for the few checkups he had to go to to make sure the cancer hadn’t returned. He knew that if he stepped foot into the atrium for a volunteer meet, he’d see faces that weren’t there before and faces that were missing, and he didn’t want to go through that depression anymore.

A waitress came over and placed five cups of steaming hot tea on top of the table. Liam quickly thanked her before she walked away, and Harry stared down at the extra cup with a raised eyebrow.

“Thirsty there, Niall?” Harry gestured to it.

Niall glanced at the cup before his eyes widened, “Oh! We forgot to tell you. We invited someone over today, hope you don’t mind.”

“No, I don’t.” Harry was just glad they’d told him. “Who is it?”

Niall didn’t get to answer before the bell was heard and heavy footsteps began trudging up to the table. Harry looked up as an olive skinned boy walked up the table. He vaguely reminded Harry of someone, but he just couldn’t remember who.

“Hey guys, sorry I’m late,” the boy smiled and took a seat next to Niall. He nodded at each of them before removing his gloves.

“Got you some tea, mate.” Louis slid him the cup and he smiled before mouthing a thanks and taking a sip.

“Harry, this is Zayn,” Liam introduced. “He was actually at the volunteer meets, remember?”

And Harry did remember. He remembered the quiet boy, Zayn, with the permanent pout who’d sat in the corner with Liam the whole time. Harry smiled to him and waved, although he had a lot of questions he wanted to ask.

But it turned out he didn’t have to ask them. As the day progressed, the five lads engaged in pleasant conversation, never really growing tired of each other. With each hour Harry would snuggle closer and closer into Louis’ chest, and they all learned more and more about each other.

Harry discovered that Zayn was still battling his lung cancer, but since he’d been doing great for the past few months his doctors had agreed that returning home for a bit would be a good idea.

And Harry was happy. He’d been happy when he met Louis, and he’d been  _ecstatic_ when he had become cancer free, but this happiness he’d never felt before. It was like that empty feeling in his heart was finally filling up. He felt good.

It’s a shame that good things don’t last for long.

.

.

.

When Harry was nineteen, he was numb.

That was the only word to describe exactly how Harry felt in that moment.

_Your Lymphoma has returned. Your Lymphoma has returned. Your Lymphoma has returned._

No matter how many times the words repeated themselves over and over in his head, he still couldn’t process it correctly.

He’d been cancer free for two years.  _Two years_. And here he was, back in the same place he’d fucking started at with stage four Lymphoma. Stage four. He knew for a fact that there was no hope. He’d relapsed, and he was going to die.

He’d been running in a track meet in school when his legs buckled beneath him and he collapsed. He couldn’t get up, and then the swelling returned. Harry had begged them not to take him to the hospital. He knew what was coming, he had practically  _sensed_ it, but they’d taken him anyway.

Anne cried again, but harder this time.

Harry couldn’t speak. He couldn’t feel. He could hardly breathe.

It was all too much. He couldn’t believe this was all happening to him. He’d come  _so far_ and then everything was just going downhill, crashing beneath him. He felt like he was going to throw up.

And he did.

Right there, in front of his doctor and his mother. He threw up.

It still didn’t help.

.

.

.

“Harry…” Felicia stared down at him. “C’mon…just go this time.”

“No.” Harry didn’t even bother to turn around. He stared at the wall before him, never moving, never blinking.

Here he was, back in the same old hospital bed, in the same old room, with the same old nurse. And now she wanted him to go down to see the volunteers.

Harry refused to do it.

“I understand that you’re going through so much right now,” she urged. “But please, maybe it’ll help.”

“I don’t need help.” Tears began falling out of his eyes and he turned over to bury his face in his pillow. “I need relief.”

After three more tries, Felicia finally left the room, turning off the light and leaving Harry alone.

The tears never stopped falling.

Harry began to feel pain.

.

.

.

It hurt. A lot.

Harry didn’t remember Lymphoma ever being this painful. Everything hurt. It hurt to eat, it hurt to swallow, it hurt to move, and it hurt to breathe.

Sometimes he’d hear his mother crying silently, or at least  _trying_ to be silent. Harry would hear her, and he’d pretend to be asleep just for her sake.

Louis would still come over. He’d visit as often as he could, but university was taking a lot of his time. Harry didn’t mind much, as long as he was there. As long as he could feel Louis’ hand in his he would be alright.

Because Harry loved Louis.

It had taken a few times in his head to get used to it.  _I love Louis. I love Louis. I love LouisLouisLouis_. But Harry had learned to accept it.

Occasionally, Harry would hear the doctors speaking outside his door, as if Harry wasn’t just inside. He could hear them speak about Harry’s illness. Harry knew that there was no chance that he’d be able to survive. The Lymphoma had returned stronger than ever.

So Harry had learned to accept that too.

He was waiting for his death certificate to be written.

.

.

.

“How long…” Anne choked on her words. “How l-long do you think he has?”

The doctor paused. “Six weeks.”

Anne sobbed.

.

.

.

One day Harry woke up and all he felt was pain.

Excruciating pain.

When a nurse finally put him back to sleep, he decided that he probably never wanted to wake up again.

.

.

.

Louis’ visits were becoming more spaced out. Harry was getting worried. He knew Louis had a life, too, but he was selfish. He wanted Louis all to himself.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, okay?” Louis whispered, brushing Harry’s curls away from his face. “I promise. I love you, Harry.” He kissed Harry’s cheek before standing up.

Harry smiled. It hurt to do so, and Louis knew that.

He decided that next time he saw Louis, he’d tell him how he felt. How he really felt; how much Harry actually loved, needed,  _craved_ him.

.

.

.

At four p.m the next evening, Harry was woken up by loud shouts.

He slowly and carefully opened his eyes, seeing that his room door was open. He wanted it to be closed, so he could rest for Louis’ visit, but he just didn’t have the strength to press the button to call the nurse.

He yawned and almost closed his eyes before he saw a body being rolled down the long hallway. Doctors ran after it and nurses followed, all of them wearing surgical masks. Harry was immediately intrigued and slowly sat up.

“What’s going on?” he croaked. Nothing ever happened in the hospital, not anything that he actually remembered. This was strange, and Harry had a weird feeling in his stomach.

Everything went quiet. He called out again but no one replied, so he finally fell back asleep.

.

.

.

Harry woke up again to loud crying.

“My baby!” A woman’s voice yelled. “No, please no, please don’t tell me it’s true!”

He recognized the voice.

It’s was Louis’ mum.

“Louis?” Harry cried out. He checked the time. It was five thirty, and Louis still hadn’t shown up. Harry grew increasingly worried.

“Louis!” He yelled louder this time. Louis  _had_ to be here, someone  _had_ to hear him. “ _Louis_!”

“Harry!” Felicia ran into the room, rushing up to Harry’s bed. “Please, Harry, calm down, it’s alright-”

“Where’s Louis?” The heart rate monitor next to Harry’s bed began to rise. He paid no mind to it. “Where is he? Please, take me to him.”

“Please, Harry-”

“ _No_!” Harry suddenly shot out of bed and ripped the I.V out his arm, stumbling out of the room. Felicia yelled after him but he ignored her. He didn’t know how he’d found the willpower and strength to actually move, but he felt no pain at that moment. All he could think was  _LouisLouisLouis_.

“Louis!” Harry yelled once more. “Lou-” He cut himself off as he skidded to a stop.

There was Jay, Louis’ mum, sobbing into the shoulder of one of Louis’ sisters. A surgeon was seen before them, blood on his clothes.

And then it happened.

The door opened and a bed was wheeled out, slower this time.

Jay cried even harder and turned away.

Harry completely shattered. So many emotions were bubbling through them at the moment, each of them becoming stronger than the other. His eyes drifted from the bed, to the surgeon, and back to Jay.

Harry fainted.

Louis was on that bed.

.

.

.

When Harry was twenty, he died of stage four Lymphoma.

This was less than twenty four hours after Louis’ death.

No one really knows what happened that night. They know Louis was hit by a drunk driver on his way to the hospital to see Harry.

But when it comes to the curly haired, green eyed boy, everything is a mystery.

Some say the cancer finally got him.

Others say that it was his time to leave.

But maybe Harry’s heart stopped beating; his body stopped functioning, because it was all too much. The death of his love added to the physical pain he was already feeling, and it all came crashing down on him.

They say life is terminal.

But love never terminates.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow so thanks for reading! Please leave kudos or a comment, it'd be greatly appreciated :) Sorry this was short!


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